Page 64 of Bonfire and Bliss Bookstore

Monty leans in close and I’m hit with the woodsy smell of the bonfire; I think the smoke is clinging to his soft flannel shirt and it’s taking everything in me not to sink my face into his chest and inhale the scent.

“Your books were filled with a treasure trove of ideas, Xuxuzinho. But then I started to think about the way you probably touched yourself while reading them…” He whispers against my ear and I shiver. “You did, didn’t you?”

His lips ghost against the nape of my neck and I squirm.

Ever since he kissed me, it feels as though something changed in Monty. First, he admitted he wanted to kiss me all those years ago—a fact I still can’t believe—and now he’s talking about how I touch myself. My entire body runs hot.

A loud clap pulls me from my stupor, and I glance over to see Rayna a few feet away, trying to get everyone’s attention.

“I wanted to thank you all for coming out to our seventeenth Apple Pick!” she calls out to the crowd. “And thank you to the Oakley family for your generosity. Don’t forget to submit pictures in the town chat of your apple creations by tomorrow. The winning prizes this year are a real treat: a free haircut from Babs and Mindy at A Breath of FresHair and dinner at Wicked Wine and Cheese!”

Monty turns to me. “So what are we making?”

I snort. “Excuse me? We?”

“Yeah.” He flashes me a wicked grin. “I want that haircut.”

I glance at his gorgeously thick dark hair and shake my head. “Don’t you dare let Babs anywhere near you with her foils.”

That woman likes to give highlights to everyone.

“You trying to tell me you like my hair, Xuxuzinho?”

My cheeks heat every time he says that word now—I can’t believe he’s been calling me sweet pumpkin all these years.

I glance toward the orchards, refusing to answer his question.

“Well, if you really want to bake something, we better go pick some apples.” Maybe he could join in with the girls; maybe Eli and Walker will come, too.

Monty’s warm palm settles into mine, squeezing it reassuringly. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

It takes us about a half hour to get from our station to the orchard as we’re stopped multiple times by Hope Harbor residents, the Liberty Ladies, and even my sister—fortunately Daisy started eating all the apples in one of the displays, which meant Tally was called away and we could finally make it to the apple trees.

I’m carrying the bag to collect the apples while Monty holds the picnic basket he brought with him. I keep eyeing it, wondering what he’s got in there.

“God, this is gorgeous,” I murmur as we walk down another emerald-green path that sits between rows upon rows of apple trees. The sun dips lower, creating a hazy golden glow throughout the entire orchard. While my family loves the bright tulips, wildflowers, and daffodils that adorn our farm in spring, I’ve always been a slut for red apples and orange pumpkins.

“I agree, the view is gorgeous,” Monty teases, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and pulling me close, those green eyes staring right into mine.

I nudge him in the ribs and he pulls away laughing.

“Don’t fake flirt with me!” I reach for an apple from one of the trees as I try to steady my racing heart. “Oh, I thought of something to add to the festival to help raise money.”

Monty’s eyes lift, curious to hear more.

“It was actually our dancing the other night that inspired the idea.” My heart races as I think of the way his eyes bored into mine as he spun me around the living room, the fire crackling beside us, the storm raging outside. We were in our own little world, that classic Billie Holiday song playing in the background. It was one of the most romantic moments of my life.

Which is ironic considering it’s all fake. I’d laugh if any of this was funny. But these feelings swirling in my chest, the ones I can’t quite ignore as easily as I have done for years, make the memory hard to brush off.

“My dancing skills were very impressive. I could see how they’d inspire you.”

I shove his arm away, grateful for the lighthearted distraction. “I was thinking we could do a dance-off at the Fall Ball.”

“Isn’t that what they do at the Spring Fling?”

“But ours would be different because we’d pair high school students with people from the senior center. And I’m thinking classic dance tunes for this one: Billie Holiday, Sinatra…”

Monty hums, a soft smile on his face. “Etta James, the Rat Pack.”